Page 54 of One Last Night

“Like he was her son, and she loves him. Yes.”

I meet his eyes. “My mother never looked at me like that. Not once.”

He nods. “Ah. I should have figured that’s what it was.”

“It doesn’t usually bother me,” I tell him, “I always felt that I did very well for a child whose parents couldn’t care less for her. Although my father loved us, at least in the beginning. Just not enough to make up for the hatred my mother showed.”

I wipe tears from my eyes. “But I just feel… cheated sometimes. I was given all of the material things I’ll ever need. My father left me a good sum of money, and the house went to me after Mother died. I had a good education, and I was able to work for twenty-five years in a profession I enjoyed. But I never felt my mother’s love. By the time I was a teenager, my father’s love had changed to indifference. He was depressed, and I understand that he was suffering, but I was a child.

“All I had was Annie. At least that’s what I believed. Father was gone, but I had Annie. Mother was a bitch, but I had Annie. We had each other. It was us against the world.” I laugh. “I had this fantasy of us buying neighboring houses and having dinner every night and calling each other to gossip while our husbands were at work. I imagined our children playing together and both of us being better mothers than our own mother ever was. Ithought… if I could have that forever, just one person who loved me, then it was all right. It would all be worth it.”

“You do have one,” he says. “You have me.”

“I know, and that’s wonderful. And I am so grateful for you. But… It still hurts. It hurts that my mother was so evil. It hurts that Annie didn’t feel the same love for me that I felt for her. It hurts that I have had to fight so hard just to keep from literally losing my mind, and I still live on the edge of insanity most of the time.”

I wipe more tears from my eyes and admit the deepest truth. “I’m afraid to open those letters because I sometimes hate Annie. I sometimes hope that she was hurt. Even when I thought she was murdered through no fault of her own, I hated her for leaving me. I’m afraid that I’ll open those letters and read all of the horrible things I said to her. And I’m afraid that a part of me will still hope that it’s true.”

I fall silent. For a minute, Sean doesn’t say anything. Then he says, “Well, you know how I feel about your sister, so I won’t tell you how much ofmehopes that it’s true.” I give him an exasperated look, and he raises his hands defensively. “I said I won’t say it. What I will say is that I will still love you, no matter what. And I will also point out that as a former psychology student, you know that it’s perfectly natural for grieving people to feel angry at their loved ones for leaving them, even when it’snotthe loved ones’ fault.

“And, I will make you a ribeye steak with mashed potatoes for dinner that is almost as good as Beatrice’s and a storebought tub of ice cream that is not nearly as good as her Baked Alaska. And, in honor of your most recent successful stint as a tutor, I will also buy a bottle of Continental Wines Bellamy Estate Reserve Riesling to drink with the meal.”

I laugh. “That sounds wonderful.”

He smiles, and for a beautiful moment, I am purely, completely happy. I pull him close, and when we kiss, Annie is nowhere in my thoughts.

EPILOGUE

Six weeks later.

Sean takes the suitcases downstairs and loads them into my minivan. Our eyes are still red from the emotion of our goodbyes. Julian has decided to place the children back into private school, a decision I wholeheartedly agree with. They’re exceptionally bright children who don’t need a tutor to unlock their full potential, but it would be very beneficial for them to interact with other children their own age, especially as they prepare for their university education. In any case, this family has just begun to heal, and while I’m grateful for the part I’ve had to play in that, I believe that my work here is complete. The rest of this journey, they’ll have to take on their own.

The Bellamys and the Cartwrights leave early this morning to go to the lighthouse, a Sunday tradition for both families now. The servants have the day off to complete their Christmas shopping. They’ll have two weeks off for Christmas and New Year's, assuming Beatrice can stand to tear herself away from the kitchen.

As for me, I’ll be returning to Boston for the holidays. Perhaps for even longer than that. I need to take some time to focus on my mental health before I take on the responsibility of another position.

Sean has been back home for six weeks now, but he visited me every weekend. Now that he has a full-time investigator working with him, he can afford to take days off. The children have made us promise to visit them at least once a month, and since they live close by, that’s a promise we can keep when I’m not hired on somewhere else.

We’ll remain close to the family, but not too close. Eventually, the monthly visits will become a few times a year, then eventually once or twice. That’s just as it should be. We will be good friends, but we have our own lives to live and our own struggles to overcome.

For now, though, I feel the ache that always comes with goodbye. Life is a collection of memories, and it’s always bittersweet when a good memory comes to an end.

I suppose that’s why I find myself in the library in my final moments at the Bellamy house. The safe has been left open since the family reconciles with each other, a symbol that they will no longer hold secrets from each other.

I feel a little pang of guilt looking through their secrets, but I am not reading them to be reminded of the salacious details of their indiscretions but of the fact that in spite of all of these missteps and trials, they remained together, a family through it all.

I can’t help but think of Annie. We didn’t get to remain a family. That hurts me, but I am beginning to realize that it’s a hurt I’ll come to terms with eventually. It will always hurt, but it won’t always rule me. That’s good enough.

I reach for a diary but stop when I catch a glimpse of something crumpled up in the corner of the safe. I pick it up and unfold it to reveal an old letter. When I open it, the world comes to a screeching halt. I spend several minutes reading the salutation before I'm able to move on to the rest of the letter.

My dearest love, Annie.

I’m not even allowed the luxury of hoping this is someone other than my sister. A photograph is attached to the letter, faded, but not so much that I can’t recognize the sunny blonde hair, noble cheekbones and gorgeous blue eyes of my sister.

My dearest love, Annie.

It’s nearly time. The final preparations are almost complete. Julian is near enough to adulthood that my absence won’t stunt him. Victoria can handle the business well enough that she won’t be destitute. I know that it frustrates you that I have to take care of her, but she is the mother of my child. She was a shit wife, but she was a good mother, and I have to give her credit for that, at least.

Still, I can’t wait to be free of her. I saw the shit she wrote about me. I saw the way she talked about Robert. Even if I hadn’t met you, I wouldn’t want anything to do with you.

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